


Golden and Indefinite

by dontpickupthephone (ablondeweasley)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - The French Revolution, Alternate Universe - The Golden Hour, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Both Matt and Katie's dad just died in a car crash, Coran is Midwestern, Katie goes missing, Katie is a musical genius because theres no tech in the town so yeah, Keith and Shiro are real brothers, Keith's dad is Texan, Keith's mom was Japanese, Lance and Hunk are African-American, Lance and Hunk are brothers okay, M/M, So I read this book when I was little and it was so good but like no one knows about it?, You should really read it?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-25 18:45:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13218888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ablondeweasley/pseuds/dontpickupthephone
Summary: Keith has been sent to stay with extremely extended family on his dad’s side: the crazy, racist, bare bones of the family tree, for the entire summer, as his dad hadn't known what to do with him since the death of his wife. These "extended family members" live half an hour from the middle of nowhere: Portón, Arizona. But just as Keith thinks he's going to be spending monsoon season in a rickety old side house doingabsolutely nothing, he notices weird things going on in Portón, especially at the old, abandoned hotel at the edge of town. New friends Katie and Lance, and Lance's brother Hunk, invite him to explore the place. Uncle Coran and (Cousin?) Allura warn him not to go near it. And then Katie disappears.





	1. The Psycopaths

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos if you can find the briefest reference to Hunk lmao

**"Time is what prevents everything from happening at once." - Albert Einstein.**

❊❊❊

It was early August in Saguaro Gulch, Arizona and the year was 2017, though in the case of Keith Kogane, not for much longer.

He had no way of knowing this, of course, as he stepped off of the train, his scuffed combat boots crunching on the cracked midwestern dirt, shoelaces dragging. Early August in Saguaro Gulch apparently meant that suffocatingly dry heat hung in the air without a single breeze to provide any relief; the various tumbleweeds and a fine layer of dust coating every visible inch of the town were left undisturbed. Keith was no stranger to such heat, being Texan born and raised, but that didn’t mean it was welcome.

Nothing about this town, or this trip in general, was welcome. But Shiro’s recent enlistment meant that Keith had been left alone with their father, who hadn’t known what to do with Keith since the death of his wife. (Keith’s mom had died of cancer when Keith was eight. Keith was now seventeen.) Then again, Keith’s dad hadn’t known what to do with _himself_ since she’d passed: he spent his days mindlessly covered in grease at his rundown auto shop, and his nights on the porch with a handle around the neck of a shitty beer, the moths guttering around the faint buzz of the electric light.

So Keith was now on his way to stay with extremely extended family on his dad’s side: the crazy, racist bare bones of the family tree, for the entire summer.

Well, maybe these people deserved a little more credit, as they were actually _excited_ (frightening!) about Keith coming to visit. This was utterly unlike the Japanese side of the family, who had wanted nothing to do with his mother (and him and Shiro by extension) since she had run off with a _gaijin._ Not to mention his bastard of a father, either.

❊❊❊

Keith reread the sign posted on the train station platform for the umpteenth time: “Welcome to Saguaro Gulch, Arizona, home of the “famous” Saguaro Gulch Space Museum.” (Just fucking great—this was the best thing the town had to offer?) For the umpteenth time, he wondered why there were quotation marks around the word “famous.” For the umpteenth time, he checked his phone as minute after minute passed and no one arrived to pick him up.

Keith sweated on the bench for another fifteen whole minutes before he saw the pickup truck against the dizzying waves of heat shining like oil spills on the horizon.

Keith sweated for another five minutes before the truck finally pulled up, and a man with a giant orange mustache hopped out, speedily approaching with arms outstretched. _Oh fuck, no._

“So sorry we’re late, kid. Oh, cheese and mice, you’ve grown!” The man’s eyes widened comically above his dancing mustache as he stopped a few inches short of a socially acceptable distance in front of Keith.

“Of course he’s grown, Coran,” A thick British accent reasoned. Keith turned to see a young woman with a shampoo-commercial-style-supernova of white curls miles long smiling at him. “The last time you saw him, he was about four, I presume. If he’d stayed the same after so many years, he’d need to see a doctor.”

“You betcha, Allura. I just barely recognized him!" The man crowed.

The woman rolled her eyes in response, and then extended a hand in Keith’s direction, “Hullo, Keith. I’m Allura, Coran’s niece. I’m here in Portón to do some research for one of my end-of-term papers.”

Coran beamed at Keith, “Allura’s come all the way from London, just a little further than you!”  
Keith barely contained his eye roll.

“Well, let’s get your luggage in Livie’s trunk,” Allura stalked over to Keith’s bags and gathered them up in one hand, an impressive display of strength. Who the fuck even _were_ these people? Why would they want to spend the summer with him? Were they _psychopaths?_ But, “Livie?” was what Keith asked aloud.

“Yes, that’s her name,” Allura replied, smiling fondly at the old-fashioned blue pickup. It was actually in remarkable shape—this model was about fifty or sixty years old, Keith figured. And Keith knew cars; he worked odd hours at his dad’s auto shop. Keith ran his hands along the chrome, which was exceptionally shiny and clean. In fact, the entire truck was shiny and clean, not a nick or scratch in sight. Even the upholstery, a butter yellow leather, and the white wheels were pristine.

Keith raised his eyebrows appreciatively, “Shit, she’s in nice condition. Did you have the whole truck recently redone?”

“Lord, no,” Coran winked, “She’s brand new.” Allura gave him a mysterious, sharp look, and he shrunk into himself, “That is to say, she's new to me. She came this way; whoever had it first did a nice job putting her together, though.” He squinted, “Though if I had my druthers, the upholstery would be orange, not yellow.”

Allura shuddered in response, hopping in the passenger’s side, and Coran followed suit, relaxing into the driver’s seat. Keith took this as a queue to climb reluctantly into the back. Coran waggled his eyebrows at Keith in the rearview mirror, “Puthergoin-eh! And hold on Keith—this baby’s got a bit of a kick when she starts.” He turned the key, the motor rumbled, and after an initial jolt forward, they were on the road.

❊❊❊

“Portón’s about a half-hour away,” Allura informed him over the rumble of the engine. Keith only nodded in response, leaning against the window and watching the large, deformed, cactus-like plants they passed. “I’m afraid there’s not much to see scenery-wise, but we _are_ in monsoon season, so there’s that.”

Great, just fucking _great._ This place was getting better and better—first the dry, old town, and then these wackos, and now there were going to be fucking _flash floods,_ or whatever. _Perfect._

Allura suddenly burst out laughing, and Keith couldn’t help but eye her suspiciously. “What?” He squinted, “What’s so funny?”

“Oh nothing, nothing,” She chirped, “Are you enjoying your trip so far?”

Was she insane? Keith plastered on a smile, trying to find a nice word for “boring”. “Yes, it’s very… quiet. Peaceful.”

“‘Boring’ is the word I believe you’re looking for, young man,” Coran piped up, his eyes twinkling. Keith wondered if the both of them had ESPN, on top of being psychopaths.

“Of course we don’t,” Allura said, waving a well-manicured hand, “That’s all just rubbish.”

Keith started to say something but stopped. He figured less interaction would keep him safer.

“Don’t worry, though,” Coran grinned, “There’s plenty to do in Portón, plenty to see, plenty nice kids your age to play with…”

Keith snorted, and Allura caught his gaze, “Really, Keith, there’s much more to Portón than meets the eye.”

Portón, Arizona, was a small desert town with a main street that consisted of one short block of shops and civic buildings. A dusty sign was stationed on the left, and Keith just managed to make out the writing as they flew by: “You are now entering Portón, Arizona. Discover and Enjoy.”

“Are you guys a little outside of town?” Keith asked a few minutes later, as the town features seemed to be growing more and more diffuse if that was even possible.

“Precisely, Keith,” Allura said, “The shop is just a few more blocks down.”

“Shop?” Keith frowned.

“I run a little curio shop out of my house,” Coran explained, “it’s filled with all sorts of stuff, odds, and ends, objects of interest, dontcha know. Keeps this old man busy. And, here we are!”

Coran jerked the pickup violently to the left, rolling up and over the side of a large, very dead lawn. They had pulled into the driveway of a Spanish-style mansion, with a stucco exterior and a clay-tile roof. A large sign planted in patches of straw-like grass in front read: “Altea’s Curios, Notary, Homemade Preserves.”

“Wow,” Keith held a hand up to block the unrelenting sun, “That’s a wide range of product.”

Coran laughed, “Yes; I make a lot of jam in my spare time, so I thought I’d sell preserves as well.”

“Does Allura help out at all?” Keith watched her disappear inside the mansion.

“Of course, of course,” Coran pocketed his keys and waved Keith along, “She runs the shop with me, of course, and she also… well, it’s a lot to go into right now, but let’s just say she’s good at tracking things down.”

They’d reached the front doors of the mansion, and, suffice to say, Keith was a little excited. He’d only ever lived in his dad’s run-down place, and staying in a mansion—even if it did belong to psychopaths—was going to be fun.

“I can’t believe you live here,” Keith’s eyes traced and re-traced all the wrought-iron details and repeated arches around the entryway.

“Yes, about that,” Coran looked away, “I used to live in the ‘big house’, but it’s been… taken over by the business. I’ve moved into side house now.” He gestured to the right… and Keith had no idea what he was supposed to be looking at?

“Where?”

“The, uh, garage-looking thing.”

“Oh.” Keith focused on something he had disregarded as junk or spare parts; describing it as a garage rather generous. It resembled a flat-roofed, rusty shack that someone had built two extra stories on, using poor material and even poorer craftsmanship. The windows were haphazard and jutted far out from the frame of the building, and the silhouette of the “side house” was lopsided at best.

Yeah, they were definitely psychopaths. That did not look even _remotely_ safe.

“Don’t worry, it’s safe. One of our neighbor’s sons designed it several years ago; he’s a genius engineer, a child prodigy really.”

Their house had been designed by a _child_? And probably built by one, too, from the looks of it.

“Well, he designed it and I put it together, with a bit of help.”

_Fuck,_ Keith was never going to see Shiro again.

“Come in, come in.” Coran ushered with a giggle. “Just mind yourself.”


	2. Beethoven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to meet Lance, Hunk, and Katie!

Keith could see why Coran had had to move out. Every corner was crammed and piled with junk, towers of it teetering above and around him. The sheer amount of, how had Coran described it?, all sorts of stuff, odds, and ends, objects of interest, was dizzyingly overwhelming. 

Allura squeezed into view between the largest grand piano Keith had ever seen and several crates of preserves (frighteningly green and labeled “Coran’s Space Goo”) stacked on a pile of gorgeously bound atlases. “Hullo again, Keith! Feel free to look around, but remember: be careful! Most of these items are irreplaceable.”

Coran nodded enthusiastically, “Oh, and please don’t go in the attic or basement.” 

“What’s in the attic and basement?” Keith asked, admiring a couple of ancient knives displayed in a cabinet otherwise overflowing with china. 

“Just our records, and the basement is where we print the catalog,” Allura waved a hand dismissively. “Well go on now, take a look around!” She smiled enthusiastically and disappeared with Coran behind a large mahogany bookcase filled with lace napkins. 

Keith, now left alone, had no choice but to begin to make his way around. There was so much to look at; cabinets and cabinets of china, teapots, oddly shaped cookies cutters, vases, snowglobes, crystal, china dolls, goblets, photo albums, etc… There were cases of jewelry, samurai swords, even a deflated hot air balloon that hung over a large leather sofa, the basket filled with bibles of all colors and sizes. 

Suddenly, Keith collided with something and, losing his footing, fell backward into a crate of thick placemats. The suffocating smell of mothballs hit him, but something weighing down on him prevented Keith from freeing himself. The edge of the crate bit into Keith’s shin. “Fuck--”

“Hey, are you okay?” A hand appeared, peeling off a few placemats and helping Keith up. “Wait, I know you!” Now up, Keith could see that the hand belonged to a guy roughly his age, with an arrestingly focused gaze and a blinding smile. 

_Umm, what?_

Keith was miles away from anyone he knew, and besides, he would have remembered meeting someone who looked like this. Keith didn’t really have a type, but. If he did… 

“Uh, sorry, uh--” The confusion must’ve been prominent on Keith’s face because the boy seemed to backtrack. 

“No, no, I just meant, uh, you must be Coran’s nephew!” Before Keith could confirm that, the guy was suddenly bent over, turning his rapt attention on the pants spilling from Keith’s combat boots. Or rather, the ragged hole in them that was now dripping blood down Keith’s hastily-tucked jeans and into his boots’ lips. “Fuck, that looks nasty. We need to get you cleaned up.” Then the guy was standing again, and before Keith had time to notice how he was a couple inches taller than him, he was off, weaving effortlessly through the maze of bric-a-brac. And, wow, he was tugging Keith along with him with a warm, firm hand on Keith’s elbow.

“Hey, look, I found Keith!” The boy triumphantly exclaimed, stopping a few moments layer in a room composed entirely of bookshelves, with a brand-new tricycle in the corner. _Wow, this kid really knew his way around._ A large boy was seated on the aforementioned tricycle, a book in his hand and two on one knee. He looked up at Keith’s entrance and smiled.

“Hey!”

The boy who had found Keith trapped by the placemats tugged at his elbow, “Keith, I’m Lance, and this is Hunk,” he gestured at the large tricycle boy, “We live around here, and were just stopping by to see ‘Llura and Coran… ” Lance said all of this at the speed of light, and then Keith was just left blinking dazedly, with Hunk and Lance watching him expectantly. It took Keith a solid ten seconds to figure out that Lance had probably known his name from Coran and Allura, who he was obviously familiar with. By the time he blurted, “OH NICE TO MEET YOU,” like a fucking idiot, both Lance and Hunk had moved onto the prospect of finding Keith a band-aid.

“That’s a nice one,” Hunk said, nodding to Keith’s shin and searching his (Hunk’s) pockets.

“That’s what _I_ said, buddy. Does it hurt, Keith?” Lance asked, a little furrow between his eyebrows. 

“Uh… not really?” Why _the fuck_ did that come out as a question?

“Ah, here’s one!” Hunk had pulled several large bandages out of his vest pocket. 

Wow, he just had bandages on hand? How… convenient. Keith took them and put a couple on his shin. He didn’t really know what to do or care about the blood on his jeans. Luckily, to save him from any more awkward moments with Lance, Coran and Allura suddenly arrived.

“Oh, Keith, I see you’ve met Lance and Hunk! Wait, where’s Katie?” Allura peered questioningly at the three of them over a large canvas with a very well-done replica of the Mona Lisa. 

“Aw, shit. The little gremlin must’ve gotten lost.” Lance stuffed his hands in his pockets and bit his lip. It was at this moment that Keith became aware of the music wafting in from the parlor. It was a classical piece, starting very simply as a sad little theme in a minor chord, but grew robust and hopeful through a series of variations.

“That music sounds familiar,” Lance said, pushing past Keith and around Allura.

“It’s Beethoven, I believe,” Coran responded, twirling his mustache.

“Katie loved Beethoven,” Lance mentioned, now halfway down the hall, and Keith wondered why he’d used the past tense if she was still very much here and being looked for. “She must’ve found your CD player.”

“Lance, we don’t have a CD player, remember? She must be at one of the baby grands. She’s very talented!” Allura called after him, smiling and shaking her head.

Hunk put his book down from where he’d returned to it. “That’s impossible; Katie hasn’t played since the car accident.”

Hunk took off after Lance, and Keith, having nothing better to do, followed. 

After a few turns, they appeared to be in the parlor, where Lance was sitting next to a small girl seated at the piano, her eyes focused on the sheet music. Keith watched her fingers racing along the keyboard, awestruck. 

The girl, who must’ve been Katie, finished with a final, solemn note, and turned to Allura. “Where did you get this?” She demanded.

❊❊❊

The sound of Katie’s voice seemed to shock Lance and Hunk. Hunk, recovering first, jumped up and completely enveloped her in a bear hug. “You’re back! Katie’s back!”

“Let go!” She squeaked, “I can’t breathe!” Hunk loosened his grip, and then Lance leaped forward, grinning in a way that made Keith flush.

“Our very own musical genius has returned to us!” Lance exclaimed, and then made a sound of pain and let go of Katie very quickly. “The gremlin bit me!”

Hunk laughed, “Our pidgeon has certainly returned!” 

Katie didn’t seem to pay them any heed, “ _Where did you get this?_ ” She demanded of Allura more forcefully.

“Katie!” Lance swooned dramatically, “You little fucker, talk to me! You haven’t said anything for six whole months! What gives?”

Katie seemed to deflate again. After a long pause, she murmured, “I didn’t have anything to say.”

❊❊❊

Katie, Keith soon learned in a hurried whisper from Lance, was a child prodigy, a musical genius. Her gift had become apparent to everyone when she, at age three, had begun to pick out complicated tunes by ear. Once she’d started formal lessons, she’d progressed rapidly, and by age eight she’d won the International Chopin contest. Her parents had homeschooled her for several years when her life became a series of recitals, interviews, lessons, and recordings, but when she grew tired of it and wanted to attend school with the rest of the kids her age. She still spent all her free time on piano, but her years of homeschooling had put her ahead of the rest of the kids her age, which was how she had met Hunk and Lance despite the three year age gap between them.

Lance paused after this, looking down. “A couple months ago, though,” he continued, even more quietly than before, “her dad and brother got into a freak car accident and… didn’t make it. It really traumatized her, and she stopped playing, and even speaking.”

_Wow._

“That… really sucks,” Keith replied eloquently, not really sure how to respond, especially with Lance’s lips brushing his ear. 

Lance’s mouth quirked up, “It really did.” 

❊❊❊

“C’mon, guys, we’re going up to the terrace!” Hunk had disappeared a little earlier with Katie, leaving Keith and Lance alone in the parlor. He had no returned, though, appearing in the doorway with his headband slipping down his forehead. 

“Oh, right, let’s go! Quick, we don’t wanna miss it.” Lance grabbed Keith’s hand and pulled him towards the door.

“Miss what?” Keith asked as he was dragged along. Not that he minded, though.

“It’s the golden hour, duh.”

“The what?”

Lance pulled him up several staircases, Allura and Coran in their wake and Katie up with Hunk ahead. Finally reaching the terrace on the top level, Keith’s breath caught in his throat.

Monsoon season, Allura had mentioned before, and with the desert spread beneath his feet and tar-black clouds gathering overhead, a trail of ink at their wake a sign of the coming night, Keith remembered. The air was thicker, and the sun hung like a heavy ripe peach on the horizon, bleeding out into the sky. Rain was coming, but there was something else, something else that silenced all of them. Moments passed, and the silence was gently broken. 

“It’s the golden hour,” Coran informed in a hushed voice, “The short period of time between the day and night, right before sunset. Look, everything takes on a golden quality. The cracked dirt, the saguaros, garbage cans, buildings, even the most wretched individuals seem to glow.”

Keith looked out and saw that he was right. Coran’s hair had caught fire, and Allura seemed enormously lovable, breathtakingly beautiful. Hunk’s skin turned into molten gold, and even Katie, who was still thin and sad, seemed infused with the power of the sun. And Lance… 

Keith had to look away.

Then the sky turned purple, orange, red, and yellow, and the sun dipped behind the trees, returning the desert to its former state. A violent rain began to shriek against the clay-tile roof, and they returned back inside.

“We need to get home,” Lance smiled gently, pulling Katie affectionately closer. Hunk nodded in agreement.

“It was nice to meet you, Keith,” Katie spoke up. Lance’s grin intensified.

“Hell yeah, it was. You should hang with us tomorrow, dude. We have something to show you.”

“Okay,” Keith found himself saying, and watched them run out to the pickup with Allura, giggling as they were drenched. Keith waited at the window until the pickup was entirely out of view.


End file.
